In Too Deep
by awordycontradiction
Summary: He could keep his distance. Well fine, so could she.


**In Too Deep; Ashes Remain **

"_You run from me, with all your heart hidden underneath your broken scars." _

He stormed off. As _if_ they were dismissed. Mary felt an anger inside of her that nothing, not England, or Queen Catherine had ever unearthed. How dare Francis just make decisions for her. He didn't control Mary. They were in this together, or so she thought.

Bash attempted to meet her eye, but Mary felt such a heavy regret, she couldn't even thank him at the moment for saving her life. She walked passed, trying to make a quick exit, but stopped momentarily to squeeze his hand. She wouldn't raise her gaze, but she felt him squeeze back. Then he was gone too.

Mary stormed into her bedchamber, the fire cackling, her Ladies missing. Mary sighed while covering her face with her hands. How had things gotten so far off track?

The Queen of Scotland had only been a guest at the French Court for a month or so, and yet she was filled with such strong emotions. Things Mary had never felt before. She loved Francis. She had loved him since they were children. She came to France believing he would love her too, and why not? They were engaged. They were _meant_ for each other, regardless of politics and alliances; Mary still believed that. But while Mary saved herself and kept blissfully naïve, Francis was gallivanting, giving his heart away like it all meant nothing.

"_You might fall in too deep and you can't run if you can't breathe." _

She unlatched her balcony door and stepped into the cool, night air. She needed to clear her head, just like Francis said. _"We have positioned ourselves for the worse sort of pain." _Mary remembered searching his eyes for the lie, he couldn't mean what he was saying. -One step forward always pushed them ten leaps back- But of course he meant his words.He was a man of honor and truth. Had he not repeated those very careful words like a mantra in different ways since Mary turned up at Court? He wouldn't let himself love her the way he wanted to and he was begging she wouldn't either.

Though, the feeling that this wasn't just a jealous ploy to keep Mary from his brother -a man she _knew_ she didn't love- but something greater. A pull to a girl that he'd known longer, more personally... Mary was not okay with that. She'd be damned before she let herself turn into a version of Queen Catherine. Mary would not live her life craving for something more.

"_You run from me, with all my heart hidden underneath your broken scars." _

But Francis wasn't wrong. She couldn't fault him for seeing things, how he said... _clearly_. They had a duty to their respective countries, and love would never be simple, -if it was in the cards at all.- Mary knew she made a mistake kissing Bash, the alcohol and the arguments aside, Mary never thought she'd hurt Francis this way. She never wanted to.

Her hands squeezed into fists, the fingertips tracing the burn she received from the Pagans. Mary had committed the symbol to memory. Reliving those horrible days in her mind and the bank-side kiss leading up to it. Mary believed that if she felt a remorse stronger than she believed possible, it would some how click in Francis' steely mind that it was all a misunderstanding. Mary didn't want Bash. But Francis_ clearly_ wanted Olivia.

It was late now, far past midnight. But Mary couldn't lay in bed, knowing she'd never drift to sleep. She was still so angry. At Francis, at herself, she was angry at all of Europe if it would satisfy the scorn inside of her. A knock on her door alarmed Mary. It was far too late for anyone to acceptably come calling for her. But curiosity did always overrule, and she made sure to grab the fire poker before creaking open the door a faction. It was Louis, her night guard.

"Forgive me your grace, but Prince Francis wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Is he here?" Mary panicked, her skin prickling with a desire to see him.

"No, no. He just sent word to ask. And to give you this." Louis held out a small stone bowl with a greenish-white cream inside.

"What is this?" Mary asked, eying the bowl reproachfully. She was a little on her guard, but didn't want to sound rude.

"Nostradamus has been working on a medicine for your burn." Louis' eyes flickered to Mary's hand. So did Mary's. "Lord Francis had asked him to be quick."

Mary smiled and accepted the ointment. "Thank you, Louis. Good night."

"And you." He bowed swiftly as Mary shut the door. She held the tiny stone bowl with a frown.

She could not mask her disappointment. She wanted it to be Francis who brought her the sentiment. She wanted him to burst through the door unannounced and apologize, so she could. Mary didn't want things to be this way. She wanted to get back to lake side kisses and promises of _'only yours'. _

But Francis _was_ a man of his word. Mary sighed as she placed the bowl down. She wouldn't use it until there was confirmation this _did_ in fact come from Nostradamus. She gently traced the poisoned skin again. Besides, it reminded her of her mistake and what it was costing her. Mary changed quickly and let her eyes slip closed in bed. She _willed_ herself not to think of Francis.

He could keep his distance. Well fine, so could she.

"_and I know..." _


End file.
